


Sketch

by SerenNoir



Category: Naruto
Genre: Art is good for the soul, Emotionally retarded teenagers, Gen, Male Friendship, Possible Spoilers, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenNoir/pseuds/SerenNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the only painting he'll ever name. Drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketch

**Author's Note:**

> I was really debating on whether or not to put up some of my old Naruto fics, because frankly, they suck and I haven't been active in that fandom for a few years now. I decided this one was worth sharing though.

It starts with an easel. New and still smelling of the rich varnish they used in the warehouse where it was made. He uses this one because it hasn't seen enough to become tainted or used, and because it wasn't all bad in the beginning when you were too young and too naive to know any better.

Next is the canvas. He makes sure it is the oldest, most ripped one in his collection because even though it may have turned out alright in the end, the scars are never going to disappear.

The last item he sets before him is the paint. It's fairly new, bought last weekend and used once since then. Some has dried on the outside of the tubs and it smells like it's seen it all, or enough of it to really matter because it takes experience and failure to be able to succeed in their line of work.

And then there are the colors.

White first, because that's what it was in the beginning, life was empty and blank before he came along. Emotions were just a word and not an actual human function. It decorates the edges of the canvas because even if something has since occupied that hole in his life, he won't allow himself to forget it.

Next is a splatter of purple to represent how he wanted so much to befriend him and ended up failing horribly. He remembers coming home that night and not painting, the first time he's done so since his brother left.

A splotch of black lines the left edge and he can now admit to himself how honestly terrified he was during the fight with Orochimaru on the bridge. He had never seen Naruto lose himself like that.

A giant X of red is splayed across the bottom corners because he was angry, and to some degree still is, and he couldn't understand, for the life of him, why someone wanted to cling to the bonds with someone who was a traitor to his village and would most likely kill you than look at you. Above all, he wanted to feel that sort of companionship and love and it made him jealous.

Then splashed across the middle of the canvas were different shades and tones of blues. The many hues representing how Naruto saved him and taught him to slowly feel. How he could now wake up each morning and have control over his own thoughts and actually be anxious to meet up with the other boy for breakfast or ramen. He considers himself lucky that his first friend is someone so generous, so caring and such a goddamn beautiful person, inside and out, like Naruto is.

He steps back from his work and removes the canvas, tacking it up on the empty expanse of wall above his bed, where the dying rays of the sun can illuminate every single color that has run its course through his life.

This is the only painting he'll name.


End file.
